Reaching Out to You
by Ariel D
Summary: SANDSIBS fic. Kankuro is hurt during a mission, and Gaara finds himself in the place to offer comfort for the first time in his life. Post Chunin Exams, pre Sasuke Retrieval.
1. Like Father?

**Reaching Out to You**

By Ariel D

_Description: SANDSIBS fic. Kankuro is hurt during a mission, and Gaara finds himself in the place to offer comfort for the first time in his life. Post Chunin Exams, pre Sasuke Retrieval._

_Disclaimer: Gaara and the Naruto-verse are copyrighted by Masashi Kishimoto and Weekly Shonen Jump. I am making no profit; this is just for fun._

_A/N: Set one month after the chunin exams and shortly before the rescue Sasuke arc._

* * *

Carrying a tray in one hand, Gaara padded silently through the mansion's hallways to Kankuro's room. Even with their father dead, the siblings had been allowed to remain in the Kazekage's mansion while the council discussed who would be the Godaime Kazekage. This small mercy, nearly the council's afterthought, had proven fortunate since Kankuro was currently injured.

Pausing outside Kankuro's door, Gaara reached up and grasped the knob, only to hesitate. The small redhead frowned, wondering if his presence would be welcome. Temari had asked him to take Kankuro his supper, but in the month since the chunin exams, his siblings still hadn't adjusted to his new attitude. Gaara suspected that they feared he'd revert to his previous ways and resume threatening to kill them; however, he'd taken the lesson he learned in Konoha utterly seriously. He was determined to change his destiny, and with it, the way others viewed him.

Gaara swallowed a sigh and slid open the door; he understood enough to know it would take months — maybe even years — for his siblings to relax around him. After all the violence he'd shown them, it was only natural.

"Kankuro?" he called as he entered. The room was dark; heavy curtains hung across the window, muting the light from the setting sun.

Kankuro, who was covered in bandages, stirred in his sleep but didn't awaken. Gaara closed the door behind him and paused. The older boy had been severely injured during their latest A-rank mission. Their job had been information gathering at Wind's northeastern border, but they'd been ambushed by two teams from Kirigakure. The battle had not gone well; Gaara suspected the teams had been comprised mostly of chunin. Although Kankuro had reaped two opponents with his new puppet, Kuroari, he'd lost to his third and final foe.

Gaara crossed the room and set the food tray on Kankuro's nightstand. He paused, considering the little table. Except for his worktable where he refined his puppets, Kankuro's room was always tidy, something that surprised Gaara. However, of the few times Gaara had been in his brother's room, he'd never noticed any knickknacks. He now realized that the nightstand held a lamp and a photograph — a photograph of himself and his siblings right before they'd left for the chunin exams.

Astonished, Gaara picked up the photo. _He wants a picture that includes me?_

Kankuro groaned in his sleep, tossing his head and shifting one arm. Gaara set down the photo as though he'd been caught stealing, watching his brother carefully as he did. Kankuro didn't awaken, though.

Gaara frowned at his brother's still form. He'd knocked off most of his covers, leaving the sheets bunched around his legs. He wore nothing more than black PJ pants; bandages covered most of his torso, left arm, and neck. Gaara noted two contradictory things: the bandages showed blood in a few places, and his brother's arms were more muscular than he'd imagined. When he wasn't in battle, Kankuro's personality was so easygoing that Gaara generally forgot how committed he was to his training.

What jarred Gaara, though, was his brother's missing face paint; he was far too used to seeing Kankuro with it. He supposed the older boy only washed it off right before sleeping. However, being currently bedridden from a devastating barrage of chakra-infused water arrows, Kankuro had no need for the paint. Gaara frowned again, looking over the smooth planes of his brother's face and noting the cuts on his brow and cheeks.

Shifting, Kankuro groaned faintly, then seemed to snap awake. "Who —?" His gaze immediately landed upon his younger brother, and Gaara suspected his trained senses had alerted him to his presence even through his drugged state.

"Temari sent you supper," Gaara said simply.

Kankuro watched him carefully for a moment, much like an animal sizing up the sudden presence of a larger animal in its territory. Apparently satisfied with what he found, he sighed and then struggled to sit up. By the time he'd managed to settle himself against his headboard, he had broken a sweat.

Gaara watched this process, his brow furrowing as he felt a twinge of an emotion long lost: guilt. Now that he understood bonds had value, he had promised himself he'd protect his siblings on their missions. Yet the first time one of his siblings had actually needed him, he had been too busy with his own opponents to be useful.

"Smells like miso soup," Kankuro mumbled, casting a tired glance at the tray.

"And rice, stir fry, and hamburgers. Temari said hamburgers are your favorite." Up until that point, Gaara hadn't bothered to pay attention to what his siblings did or didn't like.

Kankuro nodded, but he looked too exhausted and in pain to enjoy his food. "Like I can eat all that."

Gaara frowned, feeling out of his element, then picked up the soup bowl and handed it to Kankuro. "Here." He sat on the bed and watched his older brother drink the broth. When Kankuro glanced toward the chopsticks, Gaara handed them to him as well.

"Thanks, man," Kankuro said quietly, then used the chopsticks to eat the remaining negi, tofu, wakame, and potatoes.

Gaara remained on the bed's edge, his stomach tensed, and wondered at his own feelings. He realized he was perched as though he expected to be ordered off — as though he expected to need to flee. But what was he afraid of? Kankuro couldn't hurt him when he was well, much less when he was injured. Gaara frowned to himself and wrapped his thin arms across his abdomen.

Kankuro lowered the empty bowl to his lap and looked at his brother, apparently noticing his short-sleeved black shirt. "What? Are you cold?" He paused. "Well, I guess it's a bit cool in here since I left the curtains shut all day." He gestured with his chopsticks at the tray. "Eat some rice or something. That'll warm you up."

Gaara gazed at his brother with wide eyes. Kankuro was . . . concerned? No, maybe he was just acting civil. Gaara blinked. Either was shocking given his brother's normal brash attitude. "I'm fine." He took the empty bowl and chopsticks, then handed his brother the hamburger. As he did, his gaze fell on the photo again; his own frowning face stared back at him.

Kankuro glanced at the picture and blushed faintly, but he didn't say anything. Gaara watched this reaction and wondered if he'd completely overlooked half his brother's personality. Was there more to Kankuro than just a smart-mouthed punk who enjoyed fighting? He had never given much thought to Kankuro unless he was annoyed with him, but this tiny yet significant detail caught his attention. If he kept a picture of him, then perhaps Kankuro could see him as something more than a weapon. Perhaps, just maybe, he would listen if he . . .

"I meant to protect you," Gaara said quietly but bluntly, acting on the theory before he could change his mind.

Kankuro stopped mid-chew, his eyes growing wide. "Hm?"

Although he hesitated, Gaara drove himself to keep talking; staying silent just caused more pain. "It occurred to me that a team is more than just people with complementary strengths or a set of people needed in a complex situation." He paused, considering the words of Uzamaki Naruto and the way he protected his companions. "A team . . . looks out for one another. But I failed to."

Although his mouth hadn't fallen open, Kankuro's jaw had gone lax; he looked like he'd lost the ability to chew. He seemed to recover himself then swallowed rather hard. "Gaara . . ."

He hadn't laughed or said something smart aleck. This was a good sign. Gaara glanced away. "When Baki isn't with us, I'm team leader. As such, I should have protected you." He steeled himself to continue. "I'm sorry."

"It's . . . okay." Kankuro set down the plate, his hamburger half-eaten. "You were fighting four opponents yourself. Temari had two, and I had two. We were all too thick to consider there was a hidden ninth guy. He was hailing me with his ninjustu before we knew what was happening."

Gaara glanced back at him. "You've been bedridden for three days."

"But I'll get over it." Kankuro frowned. "I'm not happy about it, but it's not your fault." He paused, reached one hand toward Gaara's arm, then halted. "Thanks, though." A faint smile bent his lips. "You'll pass the next set of chunin exams with that attitude."

Gaara nodded and wondered if he could reveal to Kankuro that he had a new goal: to become Kazekage. His older brother had listened to his words and taken them seriously despite his initial shock. Maybe . . . maybe there really was someone to whom Gaara could tell his dreams. Someone who would recognize his determination and honor it.

The thought made his entire soul ache with need.

* * *

When Kankuro awakened the following morning, his neck and back hurt from lying in bed too long, and he felt groggy from all the pain medication and muscle relaxers. With a groan, he forced himself to sit up and swing his legs off the bed. He had to stretch his muscles even if it killed him, he decided, so he glared at the dressing table. If he could reach the chair . . .

Kankuro took a deep breath and forced himself to stand. He focused on his goal: the antique table his maternal grandfather had given him when he'd chosen to learn the puppet jutsu. Kankuro clenched his jaw and stumbled toward it, grabbing the chair back when he was close enough and guiding himself down with a sigh. "Made it."

He stared into the mirror, which was old enough to be marred by back spots. The table itself still shone with lacquer, although a few scratches revealed wear. Kankuro held secret affection for the piece, which he used to store his smaller tools, because it was all that remained of the kind man who had died when Kankuro was eight. When his grandfather had passed away, Kankuro had been left with only a cold father, an insane brother, and an equally lonely sister. It was a world without love.

Kankuro sighed again and opened the top right drawer — the only drawer that didn't hold tools. A brush, a comb, and several jars of face paint presented themselves. He picked up one jar, frowned at it, then looked into the mirror. The bare face that met his gaze reminded him too much of his father's face . . . the face of a man who had disdained or even hated his children. No one ever mentioned this fact to Kankuro anymore. The last time Temari had insulted him over it, they'd beaten each other black and blue in the resulting fight. That had been seven years ago; even as a child, Temari had realized it was too great an offense and had never mentioned it again.

"Enough of that," Kankuro muttered to himself, dismissing the thoughts and the memories they resurrected. He opened the jar and prepared to don the puppeteer's mask.

A knock sounded at his door. "Kankuro?" called Gaara's voice.

He paused, using the mirror's reflection to glance at the door. "Come in." For the first time in his life, he realized he wasn't afraid to spend time utterly alone with his brother. Something about their conversation the day before had eased his tension; Gaara's new attitude didn't seem to be a temporary phase.

The door slid open, and Gaara entered carrying another tray. "Temari sent you breakfast." The younger boy hesitated as he saw Kankuro sitting at the table. "It's too soon for you to move around."

A statement of fact, not concern. However, Kankuro frowned, realizing that it was significant that Gaara had bothered to even make the observation. "Maybe. But my back hurts from lying around too long."

Gaara nodded and set the tray on the nightstand. "Fair enough." He walked over to the dressing table and gazed at the paint jar. "Your face is too scratched up to put that stuff on."

Kankuro set down the jar and grimaced, wondering if Gaara saw their father when he looked at him this way. "I'd feel more like myself if I wore it." He smirked. "Good for morale."

Gaara's slight permanent frown deepened. "Don't be that way."

Kankuro blinked, glancing at his brother in surprise. "What way?"

But he ignored the question and pointed to the tin of ointment on the table. "If you're going to put something on, use that stuff."

Kankuro suffered a moment's severe confusion. Why was his little brother being so . . . nice? Granted, the kindness was coated with gruffness, but there was no doubt: Gaara was looking out for him. "But . . ."

Gaara picked up the tin and opened the lid. "Don't be so stubborn." He dipped one finger in and then applied the ointment to a cut on his older brother's cheek.

Kankuro gazed up at him, transfixed. The younger boy's brow furrowed in concentration as he applied medicine to each cut and scrape, his soft finger tracing over the wounds. Until that moment, Kankuro hadn't been able to imagine Gaara as gentle, but he found himself rendered speechless by the unspoken care.

"There," Gaara said, wiping his finger on his pants and closing the tin. "That's more reasonable."

Kankuro glanced back at the mirror, blushing faintly and turning his face to check the cuts. Each spot shone with ointment. "Thank you," he said softly, stunned. How had this happened? What had occurred during Gaara's fight with that Uzamaki kid to cause such a profound difference? For a moment, the rush of hope he felt was so painful that he couldn't breathe. _Please don't change back,_ he thought but wouldn't say. _Stay like this._

Gaara simply nodded and walked over to the tray, fetching the soup bowl and chopsticks. Kankuro continued to stare into the mirror, wondering once again if Gaara saw their father in him. Maybe not if he could bear to look at him this way. Kankuro frowned, disturbed by the question.

"What is it?" Gaara asked, setting the bowl of miso on the dressing table and laying the chopsticks across it. "Is your paint so important to you? You're not on duty, and not all the members of the puppeteer unit wear paint even when they are on duty."

Kankuro started to reply, even started to ask his question, but couldn't bring himself to. "It's just . . ."

Gaara picked up the paint jar and took off the lid. "It's just what?" He dipped his finger into the paint and reached out, drawing the line down Kankuro's nose.

The older boy was rendered speechless again and merely watched as Gaara slowly traced a line down his chin and ran a line from the corner of each of his eyes to his temples.

"That's all," Gaara said, putting the lid back on the jar. "I can't put the rest of the lines on your face without getting the stuff in your cuts."

Kankuro accepted the jar from Gaara and found he was oddly moved. "I . . . Thanks." He put the jar back in the drawer and closed it. "It . . . does help." He glanced back at his younger brother and gave him a tentative smile.

Gaara's frown relaxed, and for a moment, his eyes seemed to lighten. Then the frown returned. "You didn't answer my question. Why does that paint mean so much to you?"

Kankuro glanced away and picked up his soup bowl, setting aside the chopsticks. "It's just . . . part of my style." He sipped the broth from the bowl.

"Liar." Gaara turned and walked toward the door. "I'll be back for your tray later."

Realizing he'd managed to insult his brother, Kankuro set down the bowl and swiveled on the chair. "Wait!" He paused, a pang shooting through his chest. Gaara had been reaching out to him — had even opened up to him a bit the previous day — but he'd returned that care by brushing him off.

Gaara halted, his hand on the knob. "What?"

Kankuro stared at the floor. "Isn't it . . . obvious? When you . . . look at me?"

The younger boy paused, then crossed the floor again and took hold of Kankuro's chin, forcing him to look up at him. For a moment, Kankuro felt a tingling of nervousness and wondered if he'd be snapped at. However, he met his younger brother's gaze — a somber gaze that radiated his seriousness.

"Is that it?" Gaara's voice was quiet. "Because you look like him?" He shook his head. "Who cares? You're not him." He hesitated, then continued. "Besides . . . you don't have the same eyes. His were dead and cold. Flat and filled with hate. Yours aren't."

"G-Gaara . . ."

The younger boy released him, then walked to the bed and perched on the corner. "Eat your breakfast then lie down again before you push yourself too far."

Kankuro turned back to his bowl of miso and grinned. "Okay." He blushed with happiness, stunned that such a few kind words could have such an impact — especially kind words from someone who had always treated him cruelly. Some small voice inside of him, one he hadn't even realized had been screaming, suddenly stilled and grew silent.

He ate his breakfast, then returned to bed as Gaara had suggested. He gazed up at his younger brother and gave him a genuine smile. "Thanks."

Gaara nodded, silent as always, and yet Kankuro sensed the human soul behind the veil. With the smile still on his lips, he slipped back into sleep. Maybe he would end up with a younger brother after all . . .

* * *

_A/N: Methinks this needs a sequel. In fact, methinks this may end up with a chapter 2. We'll see. Thank you to Darkhelmetj for betareading and to anyone who reads and reviews! I really appreciate the comments, reviews, and favs on my other stories._

_Update on the "Blood of Brothers and "Requiem for Atlas" series of stories: chapter 1 of the third story is completed and waiting to be betaed. Things are looking good on that front._


	2. Being Siblings

**Chapter Two**

Four days and counting. Kankuro was quite simply bored out his mind. Temari had brought him his breakfast that morning and his supper the night before, teasing and joking with him both times. However, both she and Gaara had been deployed every day, leaving Kankuro to either sleep or stare at the walls during the afternoon. What was worse, the med nins had condemned him to another four days' torture, and his body had proven they were right. He could only sit up for short periods before being wracked with intense pain that made him feel as though the chakra arrows were ripping through his body again.

With a sigh, Kankuro glanced around his room. He preferred fast-paced strategy games, which required multiple people, or hands-on hobbies like woodworking. Anything that could engage his hands and his mind at the same time worked, which had been the reason he'd become interested in the puppet jutsu. Unfortunately, this made him the worst patient in the world: sedentary activities like listening to music or reading bored him. Even watching television made him insane unless he could work on something else simultaneously, like drawing.

Kankuro slapped his hands against his face. "Something . . . anything!" he groaned. "I'm going stir crazy." He lowered his hands, remembering his sketchpad on his worktable. With the flick of one wrist, he attached his chakra strings to the pad and a pencil and jerked them over. Maybe if he put one of his extra pillows on his stomach, he could balance the pad and work on some puppet designs. Even still life sounded interesting at this point.

"Gaara!" came Temari's voice through the window.

Kankuro paused, realizing his siblings must be at the front door. He could hear the faint rumble of his brother's low voice replying, but he couldn't make out the words. Feeling oddly relieved to know he wasn't alone now, he returned his attention to the sketchpad, moving his pencil in light, quick strokes as he drew a paw with extended claws. A jackal puppet, maybe. He preferred human-like puppets, but the animal types had their uses.

"That bastard!"

Temari's voice interrupted his thoughts again, and Kankuro frowned, wondering what had upset her. He could hear Gaara's voice replying once more, followed by the sound of the door opening and closing.

Gaara . . .

Kankuro set down the pad and stared at the ceiling. The day before, his younger brother had apologized again. Those simple words: "I'm sorry." When Gaara had said that to Temari and him as they left Konoha, Kankuro had thought for sure he'd hallucinated. Gaara? Apologize and mean it? The boy who had stared at him so defiantly during the chunin exam and told him he'd kill him if he got in his way?

For a moment, Kankuro could only see the past: a ten-year-old and cold-eyed Gaara standing in the mansion courtyard, shifting the colored ornamental rocks around the "garden" by moving the sand under them.

Kankuro had been sent to fetch Gaara so their father could explain a mission he wanted his children to undertake, which Gaara — as a living weapon — would be sent on despite having not officially graduated yet. Kankuro had paused on the stone pathway, watching the frowning redhead displace all the artistically arranged stones; faint crystalline traces in the rocks glittered in the sunlight, oddly reminding the puppeteer of unshed tears.

"Father has a mission for us," he'd said at last.

Gaara didn't reply. He raised one hand, pushing one rock up on a pillar of sand, then let it fall again.

Kankuro frowned, struck by a thought. "Hey . . . isn't today your birthday?"

It had seemed an innocent question at the time. Their father always ordered the servants to prepare birthday dinners for his two older children, although he never permitted the imported practice of giving gifts. Gaara's birthday, though . . . the day their mother had died . . . had always been ignored. Still, Kankuro excelled at remembering dates and details, and he didn't see any reason to ignore Gaara's birthday. After all, he was old enough to understand that it wasn't Gaara's fault that their mother had been killed.

Gaara turned toward him slowly, narrowing those empty aqua eyes. "No idea. But if you don't shut up, you won't make it to yours." The sand at Gaara's feet swirled upward, wrapping around his body.

Kankuro had backed off, stung by the hate in his brother's voice and pricked with fear. He had always backed off from the homicidal, insane child, except when Gaara was chakra-drained. Then he just looked like any other child — small, exhausted, and vulnerable. Those moments when Gaara needed to be carried were the only times Kankuro felt like a brother . . .

. . . and for some reason he couldn't explain, those moments meant a great deal to him.

A knock sounded on Kankuro's bedroom door, recalling him to the present.

"Come in," he said, picking up the sketchpad again and appraising the claws he'd drawn. The design seemed reasonable thus far.

The door slid open, and Gaara entered, his face impassive as usual. He was carrying a plate with a sandwich. "Temari is cooking supper now, but she thought you might be hungry already since no one was here to bring you lunch."

Kankuro raised an eyebrow. "She left me some rice balls this morning." Still, the instant he saw the sandwich, he knew his sister was right; he was hungry. He held out his hand. "Okay, so a sandwich does sound good right now."

Gaara walked over and handed him the plate, then perched on his bed. Kankuro accepted the sandwich and bit into it, savoring the taste of salami, pepperoni, and ham after having nothing much more than rice for breakfast and lunch. As he chewed, he watched his younger brother pull one leg up to his chest and wrap his arms around it. He was staring at the photograph on the nightstand once more, and Kankuro wondered if Gaara would verbally slap him again — just like the birthday incident — for the sentimental streak he hid. He sometimes told himself he should stop caring so much, and the attitude would hold for a day or two. Then he'd find himself worrying over his siblings just as much as usual.

"What was Temari mad about earlier?" Kankuro asked, trying to derail his brother's attention.

Gaara shrugged. "Something the council said to me when we returned from our mission." He frowned a moment, as though confused. "I'm unsure why it angered her, though."

"Was it an insult?" Kankuro took another bite of his sandwich, watching his brother carefully.

"It was true," Gaara said quietly.

"If she thought it was an insult to you, she still wouldn't like it."

Gaara's brow furrowed. "Why?"

"You're her brother." Kankuro said it matter-of-factly and tried not to flinch. "You may not consider her your sister, but . . . it doesn't erase the fact she is."

Aqua eyes settled their gaze upon him, but this time without the coldness and hate. Just a look of faint confusion. "Why does a blood connection make any difference?"

Kankuro started to answer, but then stopped to think about his tattered family: grandparents who'd died early in his life; an uncle who had committed suicide trying to assassinate Gaara; a mother killed by her sick and twisted husband; and a father who never loved his family and only cared about ambition and military might.

Kankuro set down the sandwich, his appetite suddenly lost, and stared at his lap. Did he say something sarcastic to dismiss the topic? If he did give an honest answer, would Gaara strike out at him? "I don't know." He frowned, then followed his gut instinct and told the truth. "I guess . . . it's because it's all we have."

Silence met this answer, and Kankuro glanced up to judge Gaara's reaction. His younger brother was gazing at him, almost through him, as though he were analyzing his soul. A faint shiver ran down Kankuro's spine; this was normally what happened right before someone ripped his throat out and reminded him why he always played the role of a heartless punk.

However, Gaara simply nodded, as though his older brother's vague, abstract answer made all the sense in the world. "Is that why you have a picture that includes me?" He looked toward the photo on the nightstand. "Blood?"

Kankuro set his plate on the nightstand and glanced at the picture. Did he dare? Gaara hadn't brushed him off or threatened to kill him, unlike in the past. "You . . . are still my younger brother. Even if you don't care."

Gaara's eyes widened in a rare expression of genuine surprise, then his brow furrowed. His gaze dropped to his propped up knee, and he didn't reply right away. Kankuro watched this unusual show of emotion and for the first time saw the boy before him as nothing more than his 12-year-old brother. He reached out, extending his hand toward the smaller boy's arm, then paused.

However, instead of touching his brother, Kankuro let his hand drop, just as he had the day before. Gaara maintained a level of aloofness, an aura of impenetrability, that seemed to say "don't touch me." Although Kankuro didn't feel he was in danger, he thought it might be an insult to Gaara to invade his personal space. The only time he felt comfortable touching his younger brother was when he was chakra-drained and needed to be carried.

Needed to be carried . . . Kankuro wondered if Gaara would ever want or need an older brother.

Gaara glanced at him, then looked away, his facial expression returning to its normal impassiveness. "I'm not sure I'd say that I no longer care," he said quietly, his voice not much more than a whisper. "I'm just unsure of what it means to have siblings. Or what it should mean."

This admission left Kankuro speechless. Did this mean Gaara might want his siblings in the future? He blinked and felt a blush sting his cheeks. He desperately wanted to reach out to Gaara, to show him that kinship could exist between the loneliness and brutality of Suna's ethic. But he, himself, wasn't sure how to express those feelings.

Gaara stood and headed for the door. "Temari probably finished making supper; I'll bring you back some real food in awhile."

Kankuro nodded even though Gaara's back was now turned toward him. "Thanks, man."

Gaara paused at the door. "No problem." He slid open the door, stepped out, and shut it again, leaving Kankuro lost in a whirl of conflicting thoughts and emotions.

* * *

Kankuro awakened from an unintentional nap around nine o'clock that evening and groaned, irritated by the drowsiness his new pain medicine and muscle relaxers were causing him. The sun had already set, casing the room into the dimness of twilight. Long shadows, created by the moonlight, stretched across the floor and wrapped their fingers around the furniture legs. The world seemed to hang between the shadows, trapped between faint rays of moonlight and impenetrable blackness.

As Kankuro's mind slowly cleared of its drugged fog, he realized he wasn't alone. Someone was behind him on the bed. Concerned, Kankuro glanced over his shoulder and discovered his brother sitting by his pillow. "Gaara?"

The boy sat against the headboard, one leg propped up again, and stared out the window. When Kankuro spoke, however, he lowered his gaze to look him in the eyes. "I brought you supper hours ago, but I couldn't get you to wake up. Temari called a med nin, and they said they'd gotten the dosage of your new medicine too high."

Kankuro paused, caught by the words under the words: _I was worried, so I went and got help. Then I stayed to see if you would be all right._He found himself blushing for the second time that day, touched deeply by this unusual care. "Oh . . . thanks."

Gaara raised one hairless brow. "For what?"

How to answer? "For staying to make sure I didn't . . . stop breathing."

Gaara nodded.

A low grumble in his stomach announced to Kankuro that he had definitely missed supper. "I guess the food was sent back hours ago."

"Temari left you some rice balls and fruit." Gaara reached over to the nightstand, picked up a rice ball, and handed it to Kankuro. The older boy rolled over onto his back, and after propping himself up by folding his pillow, he ate the rice slowly while he considered his brother's actions.

"Well . . . you have your answer," Kankuro said after he finished.

Gaara still watched him, and even in the dim light, Kankuro could tell he was confused. "To what?"

Kankuro paused, then spoke softly. "To what it means to be a sibling."

Silence met this observation, and the boys gazed at each other. Gaara nodded slowly. Struck by the fact his younger brother was working to connect with him, Kankuro set aside his concerns, reached out, and squeezed the other boy's arm.

Gaara's facial expression relaxed, his perpetual frown easing off his face. Seeing this, Kankuro relaxed as well and patted his brother's arm before releasing it.

The tiniest of half-smiles bent up the corner of Gaara's mouth, then he shifted on the bed. "Now that you're fine, I will let you sleep again."

Kankuro rolled over again, facing away, and paused as he considered his feelings. He wished he could forge more of a connection with his brother. "You can stay," he whispered into the darkness.

No reply came, but he felt the weight on the mattress as Gaara lay down. After a moment, he could feel the boy curl up behind him, not quite touching but close enough that Kankuro sensed his body heat. Apparently his brother planned to pass his sleepless night beside him.

Kankuro smiled; the irony wasn't lost on him. The terror of his young life was resting on his bed — a monster in his room, a thin veil of consciousness between him and Shukaku's insanity. And yet he wasn't afraid. He couldn't be. He had heard him, saw him, even touched him: the human who was his brother. A child that carried a burden Kankuro couldn't imagine. However, whether he understood Gaara's plight or not, he would stay by his younger brother from now on. More than teamwork, more than blood, it was the love that grew in darkness, between the cold desperation of Suna and the legacy of their family's hate.

Kankuro closed his eyes and let himself drift to sleep, secure in the knowledge that over time he and his siblings would pull together into a functional family.

* * *

_A/N: Thank you to Darkhelmetj for betareading and to everyone who reviews and/or favs! Thank you also to everyone who reviewed and/or faved chapter 1 and encouraged me to keep writing._

_Definitions, jic: negi=type of onion and wakame=edible seaweed._

_Speaking of Darkhelmetj, she has written a Gaara and Kanky h/c fic named "Brother's Keeper." Please give it a read; it's lovely!_


	3. Being Human

_A/N: Reminders (jic): "nii-san" means "older brother" and "ototo" means "younger brother. "Hara-kiri" is ritual suicide._

* * *

**Chapter Three**

Kankuro clung to the banister, determined to make it downstairs to the kitchen. An entire day had passed since he'd suffered a mild accidental overdose on the new muscle relaxers and pain killers the med nins had given him, and he'd spent that day unpleasantly stoned, pondering the reality of his inevitable death and obsessing about the particulars of the afterlife.

"Never again," he muttered, stumbling down to the final step. It had been a horrid feeling. Fortunately, Temari had been home all day while Gaara was on a mission, and she'd talked to him, brought him food, even drawn him a bath and then helped him to the washroom.

Today, though, the situation was reversed: Temari was on a mission, and Gaara was home. Gaara had actually been taking decent care of him with Temari's direction, but Kankuro was determined to make it to the kitchen and fix his own breakfast. He leaned against the walls, supporting his weight as he crossed the traditional living/dining room in their wing of the expansive, multi-purpose Kazekage's mansion, and felt oddly pleased that even in his weakened condition, his footsteps made no sound against the straw tatami floor.

As he entered the kitchen, Kankuro saw that Temari had left food for her brothers. He rested momentarily against the modern kitchen table that had been crammed into the room, then launched himself at the counter. Awaiting him was semi-warm rice slowly drying out in the rice cooker.

"Not just rice again," he mumbled to himself, but he pulled a bowl from the cabinet and dipped out a helping. He glanced at the fridge, hoping for at least some pickled eggplant, but he felt exhausted from his trip and unable to push himself further. Even as he considered moving to the table, his legs tried to give out on him, and he clutched the counter. "Damn!"

Gaara entered the room then, apparently intent on finding breakfast as well. He paused just inside the doorway, his eyes widening slightly. "Kankuro?"

The older boy tried to summon a smile. "Yo." He did his best to don his usual mask and not reveal the level of his exhaustion. "Temari left us . . . rice."

"I can see that." Gaara paused, his expression as impassive as ever. "Why are you out of bed? You're supposed to be in bed for two more days."

Kankuro shrugged, still trying to keep up his punk mask — to pretend he was better off than he was. "If I stay in that room one more day, I'll probably commit _hara-kiri_. I'm just . . . well, if I can't be working on something, I have to at least be somewhere interesting."

One of Gaara's eyes arched faintly. "You find the kitchen interesting?" His gaze fell to the way Kankuro leaned against the counter. "Your balance is still disturbed, or you're still too weak. You should be sitting down."

Kankuro watched his brother for a moment, realizing that Gaara's stating of the obvious was another deadpan show of concern. He smiled. "Nah. The kitchen is boring; I'm just hungry." He grabbed his bowl of rice with one hand, then turned himself toward the table. "Although you're right. I need to sit." He stepped forward, only to have his knees buckle, throwing him back against the counter. "Damn!" He thunked the bowl on the counter, spilling a few clumps of rice. His knees didn't recover, though, and he realized he was going to end up face-first in the floor.

However, before he could hit the floor, a thin layer of sand surrounded him and supported him. "You should know your limits," Gaara said, stepping forward and wrapping his arm under his brother. "Come on." He hauled Kankuro toward the table.

"Sorry," Kankuro mumbled, glancing at his little brother. Gaara's arms were strong, the muscles compact from years of carrying his sand armor, but Kankuro felt protected instead of endangered. He found himself marveling on two counts: one, Gaara was carrying him for a change; and two, he truly wasn't afraid to be left completely alone with him.

His younger brother set him in a chair, returning for the rice and bringing it to him. Then he crossed his arms, staring down at Kankuro without blinking. "I'm sure your bedroom is far better."

The impassive tone did not fool Kankuro. He closed one eye and gazed up at him, unconsciously falling back on his typical mannerisms. "After four days, no. Trust me on that. If I could work on my puppets —" He paused, considering the scenario. "Actually, at this point, even that wouldn't stop my stir-craziness."

Gaara cocked his head to the side, and Kankuro felt as though he was being analyzed. After a moment, the younger boy took the chair beside him. "Why do you do that?"

It seemed a simple question, but Kankuro wasn't sure what he meant. "Do . . . what?"

"When you speak to people, particularly people you don't know or don't trust . . ." He stopped and mimicked Kankuro's closing of one eye. "That."

Shocked, Kankuro stared at his bowl of rice momentarily. Since Gaara didn't fit into the category of 'don't know', the younger boy clearly believed he fell into the category of 'don't trust.' Granted, this had been true for years, but Gaara seemed to be working hard to change, and Kankuro didn't want him to feel shut out. "It's not that. Trust, I mean." He stopped to consider his own actions, having never thought it through before. "Actually, I tend to do it when I'm bored or when I'm talking to people I don't know. In this case, I was talking about being bored." He shrugged. "I guess I'm trying to look smug, to be blunt."

Gaara frowned, looking faintly puzzled. "I'm not around others enough to know if this is common. Do other people do these things?"

"Everyone has mannerisms that are theirs alone. Even you." Kankuro picked up a pair of chopsticks left over from the previous week's takeout and snapped them apart, considering his younger brother. First he'd spoken of teammates, then of being a sibling. Now he was quizzing Kankuro on being human. He was definitely trying to piece together some things. "You constantly cross your arms, and it generally indicates either boredom or irritation. In my case, I try to look smug because —" He interrupted himself with a snort. "— because I realized early in life that the bigger of an asshole I am, the more people leave me alone."

Gaara seemed to ponder this answer, then nodded. "I understand. I kill people." His brow furrowed, as though he'd disturbed himself. "Or . . . I used to." He looked down at his arms, then uncrossed them. Within moments, he crossed them again.

"Heh." Kankuro grinned. "A full two seconds." He gazed down at his lukewarm rice, frowned, then broke custom and drowned it in soy sauce before taking a bite. He watched Gaara as he ate, marveling that he'd managed to have this much of a conversation with him, especially for the third time in one week. Still, he hadn't been holding such conversations with Gaara long enough to be sure he could keep it up, and that made him sweat a bit. "You should get something to eat, too."

Gaara nodded silently, stood, and walked to the rice cooker. As he dipped a helping into a bowl, he spoke again. "How can you trust someone if they change their appearance or their personality depending on the situation?"

Kankuro nearly choked on his food, then swallowed hard. "Is — is that what you think I do?" He stared at the table, perturbed. "It's a mask, Gaara. Who I am doesn't really change. What I'm changing is what I allow others to see. I can create as many new designs for my face paint as I want and cop as much attitude as I want, but it doesn't change the person I am."

The younger boy turned toward him with wide eyes, detectably shocked. "I . . . didn't mean you." His characteristic frown tugged at the corners of his mouth.

Kankuro began sweating again, wondering if he'd revealed too much, said too much. Outwardly, though, he shrugged. "The same can be said for other people. No one acts the same around their parents as they do their siblings or around their siblings as they do their friends. How they act on a mission is different than how they act at home. Some situations require more formality or respect; others allow you to say or do anything you want. You adjust based on what's 'socially acceptable.' It's not that they're trying to trick people. But they wouldn't, say, cuss in front of their mothers, but they would in front of their friends."

"And if you do it wrong, you commit a social sin. You are shunned. You are untrustworthy because you don't abide by the human code." Gaara wrinkled his lip, looking momentarily disgusted. Then his voice grew quiet. "If these mannerisms are normal, and yet so complex . . . maybe it's impossible after all." Suddenly, his expression turned almost imploring. "How do you make others trust you if you aren't consistent?"

_It?_Kankuro wanted to ask. Did his brother mean being human? "Gaara . . ." He patted the table where the boy had been sitting. "Hey, sit down. I'll try to explain."

Although he hesitated, Gaara grabbed his bowl and sat at the table again. He grabbed a pair of chopsticks, held the bowl up to his face, and then spooned some rice into his mouth.

Kankuro realized his younger brother was watching him over the bowl's rim with an air of blank expectancy. "First of all, you _are_consistent. That's what makes it hard for people to approach you. Since you act the same around everyone, no one can tell what you really think. Your crossed arms indicate you don't want people to approach you, and your impassive expression is unreadable, except you tend to faintly frown most of the time." He internally cringed but pushed forward anyway. "People think you're pissed off all the time as a result. And since you're always this way regardless of the age, rank, gender, or whatever else of the person, they don't know how to respond. Or they assume you hate them all." He grimaced faintly at his honesty.

Gaara lowered his bowl and gazed at his rice. "I . . . see. That's to be expected, I suppose. That was true until recently." He paused. "But you're wrong on one count. I am inconsistent. Monsters are never consistent."

Without thinking, Kankuro started to reach out to his brother and touch his arm, but he quickly stopped himself. "Don't say that." He hesitated, struggling with two impulses: the first was his longtime fear of his brother; the second was his desire to encourage this new Gaara. When he finally spoke, his voice came out much softer than normal. "_You_aren't the monster."

"But I have one in me," Gaara replied, blunt. "One that can't be fully controlled." He frowned, his expression solemn. "How can anyone come to trust me, knowing that I might kill them?" He set down his bowl and folded his arms.

Kankuro absently chewed on the end of his chopsticks for a moment. Why was Gaara suddenly so concerned about this? "They trusted Father," he pointed out. "They trusted him enough to make him Kazekage, and he killed his own wife. He killed anyone who didn't do as he liked. It was _him_who was the monster."

Kankuro sighed and set his chopsticks across his empty bowl. "Gaara . . . I can tell you're working hard right now to control Shukaku. If you control him, you won't be inconsistent. And when it comes to shinobi, aren't we all killers? I've got a rep as a huge asshole; I could kill someone just as easily. But I do my duty when called upon, and that's what people want: a team player, a hardworking member of the community. They trust me for that. Can you really say you haven't been doing the same lately?"

"Maybe." Gaara looked downcast, the shadows around his eyes deepening, but he seemed to remember himself, bringing the impassive mask into place. "They did trust Father as Kazekage. They were fools." A small smirk wrinkled the edge of his nose. "It doesn't say much about the citizens. But perhaps — " He stopped suddenly, studying Kankuro. "You put on a good mask. But you're right: it's still you underneath, and you're tired."

Realizing his advice and care had been brushed off, Kankuro became irritated. Why, exactly, was he trying to reach out to his brother — especially if Gaara were going to ignore or deny everything he said? "Drop dead tired. But I don't want to go back to my room." He shoved the empty rice bowl away from himself, knocking the chopsticks off in the process, and then sighed. Maybe he would try one last time, anyway, even if it did piss him off. "Just . . . be yourself, Gaara. Be the person you want to be. If you are that person, then others will eventually sense your genuineness. Don't worry about the masks and mannerisms and games. If they don't accept the real you — " He paused to stare down the younger boy. "— the _human_you, the person you're trying to become, then it's meaningless anyway."

Gaara gazed at his brother for a long moment. "I said something wrong." He turned his stare upon his own empty rice bowl. "I'm too new at this. You'll have to explain what I did wrong."

"You just did it again. Twice in a row." Kankuro lowered his face into his hands and rubbed his eyes. "I'm trying to tell you something, and you aren't acknowledging that you even heard me. Look, I know —" He stopped and cringed to himself. "— I know you don't consider me your _nii-san,_even though you did figure out a few things about siblings the other night. But what I'm telling you . . . I'm not just mouthing off here." He dropped his hands and sighed explosively. "I'm trying to give you some useful advice, dammit!" It was odd, but for some reason he couldn't explain, Kankuro felt hurt that Gaara had ignored his words. Then again, it was his own fault for being stupid enough to open up to his younger brother.

Yet, to Kankuro's surprise, Gaara's shoulders slumped. "I know." His voice was a quiet rasp. "I said some things in the past . . . I told you I never considered you my brother. But like you said the other night, we're brothers by blood, and — and maybe something more." He stared at the table and didn't look up. "Because after all that's happened, even after what I just did, you're still trying." He closed his eyes, remained utterly still for a moment, then slowly opened them again. "I wasn't trying to ignore you. I've listened to everything you've said, and in truth, I consider your advice . . ." His voice dipped to a near whisper. ". . . helpful."

For a moment, Kankuro forgot to breathe, then he felt a blush spread across his cheeks at what could only be considered a high compliment, coming from Gaara. He watched his younger brother with wide eyes, and when he spoke, his voice was uncharacteristically soft. "Then listen to your _nii-san_and just be . . . the person you aim to be. It will succeed with time." He reached out again, paused, then squeezed Gaara's arm just as he had two days earlier. "I am —" He stopped short, not sure what he should or even could say. "Well, I'm here."

Although Gaara stared at him with that impassive expression, he nodded.

Kankuro released him and returned the nod. "Okay. Then I have a request."

Gaara merely raised a hairless brow.

"Sad as it is, I need help walking." The older boy snorted. "And I'd like to spend the morning in the garden. I've been trapped inside too long."

"A simple request." Gaara stood and grabbed Kankuro's wrist, pulling his arm over his shoulders as his older brother pushed himself to his feet. Once they gained their balance, he guided them out of the kitchen and toward the door.

Kankuro smiled at him. "Thanks." When they reached the door, they each slipped on a pair of zori in the entryway. Then Kankuro slid the door open for them, only to end up shielding his eyes as they stepped into the sunlight. "Man, it seems like such a glare after being inside for so many days in a row."

From under his hand, Kankuro glanced around at the sparse mansion garden with its tropical plants, glittering decorative rocks, and stone pathways. "Maybe in the corner by the fountain; there's some shade there."

Gaara turned them that direction without replying, also wincing in the scorching sunlight.

"And it's okay, you know," the older boy added, almost as an afterthought.

"What is?" Gaara steered them toward the bench in the corner.

"Your questions. Ask anytime."

Gaara's eyes widened, his gaze dropping to the ground. He nodded slowly. "Okay . . . I will." He guided his brother to the bench, then helped him ease down. Without another word, he turned to leave; however, he only took two steps before he paused. He glanced over his shoulder, stared at his brother for a moment, then joined him.

Kankuro hid a smile, oddly pleased that Gaara had chosen to stay. He stretched out his legs and relaxed, inhaling the sweet scent of the tropical flowers and the fresh smell of the water trickling in the fountain. "What a relief."

Gaara looked around as though he'd never seen the garden before. "It's all right."

Struck by the realization he was actually sharing a quiet moment with his younger brother, Kankuro smiled at him again. "Yeah. Not as good as being out on a mission, but way better than being stuck in my room."

Gaara nodded and turned at an angle to face the fountain. In doing so, however, he accidentally leaned against his brother's shoulder. He jerked away as though startled, hesitated, then relaxed back against him.

Shocked senseless, Kankuro didn't react at first. Then he grinned to himself, strangely touched. Could this boy actually become his _ototo_by more than blood?

After several minutes of silence, Gaara spoke quietly, a small smile bending up the corner of his mouth. "Kankuro . . . thank you."

Kankuro thought he understood Gaara's sentiment, so he didn't bother to ask for clarification. He just relaxed with his brother. "Hey, sure thing."

* * *

_A/N: This chapter was co-written with Darkhelmetj via MSN Messenger roleplaying. She also acted as betareader, so much thanks to her on both counts._

_Sorry it took me so long to get this written, transposed, and posted. My muse and I collapsed for about a week there. Updates on "A Shoulder to Lean On" and "The Greatest of These" are forthcoming._

_As always, thank you to everyone who reviews! I appreciate the feedback._


End file.
